Mourning

[just mercedes]

On first read I wondered why this wasn't quite a contemporary sonnet - why the extra line? I've been mourning myself, the death of a pet, and your poem really got through to me - you describe a complex scene, without bathos or pathos.



Mourning 

Her fragile keen, so felt, so slow, so rude,
desists upon my entering the room.
Like a death at a parade, my steps on grief intrude; the inverted work order grates, for me
like scissors on a butterfly they move. not keen on the second 'like'
I wish she would lament as mothers do,
terribly, instead of cooing to herself, a 'keen' is not quite a 'coo' - I think this could be clearer
instead of refusing to look around for me,
losing sight of her grief instead.

I crushed a junebug to guts and tatters once. The contrast is violent - love it
Its wings and legs came unglued. Puzzlingly,
it'd ceased to be,
And, overcome with distress, I buried her 'its wings', 'it had ceased to be' yet ' buried her'?
and chalked "June" on a rock with a rock,
and cried desperately. O, weary woman, too,
cry and cry and cry til your eyes turn blue. Love this effective anaphora